


There Is No Manual

by WhisperElmwood



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: ASL, Ableism, Alternate Universe - Canon, American Sign Language, Angst, Aspergers, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Meltdown, Autistic Tony Stark, Deaf, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Disability, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Non-Verbal, Nonverbal Communication, Obadiah Stane's A+ Mentoring, Relationship Negotiation, Sign Language, autistic shutdown, communication issues, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-27 03:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9954455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperElmwood/pseuds/WhisperElmwood
Summary: Howard didn't approve of Tony's autism diagnosis, so he and Obie taught the boy to keep it hidden, taught him the rules of high society, made sure he learned so well that - other than his personal physician, Pepper and Rohdey - absolutely no one knows. Consequently Tony plays NT pretty well, though it eats away at his spoons to do so and the only place he gets to be himself, his real self, is his own home and the workshop.And then the Avenger's move in. Suddenly he can't even be himself in his own home and he has to be careful in his own workshop. He doesn't know what to do, or where to go, or how to react. There is no script for these people; Natasha scares him, Thor and Steve don't understand his quotes, and their social rules are too different. Bruce is at least someone he can talk science with. Clint gets his references.But the drilled in message that the way his mind works isn't welcome makes it so damn hard to deal with this new situation.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All auties are different, this interpretation is based on my own experience. 
> 
> Warning for the prologue, it's a fairly graphic description of an autistic meltdown - in reaction to prolonged torture. 
> 
> This will be SLOW BUILD YO.

Prologue

   


Tony rocks. He rocks and rocks and rocks, can’t get the taste of dirty water out of his mouth, can’t get the feel of rough hands grabbing and pulling and  _ forcing him under the water  _ off his skin, the sounds of their laughter and unfamiliar language and noises and noises and  _ noises  _ out of his head. His head hurts, his throat hurts, his hands hurt.  _ His chest hurts. _

Tony grips the car battery tight and tight and  _ tight  _ in his arms, his hands, his fingers. Pulls it into his stomach, curls around it as he rocks. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t want it; wants to rip it all out and break it, throw it down and tear it to pieces, throw those pieces at his captors, at Yinsen. But he knows machines, knows wires and cables and metal and electricity. Knows if he doesn’t keep it safe, keep it dry, the next time - the  _ next  _ time they drag him and pull him and dunk him - wires and electricity and water don’t mix well. Knows what will happen if the battery breaks, if the cables break, knows intimately now that the magnet  _ must  _ keep running.

He tugs at his hair, tries not to hit himself, tries not to hurt himself. His mother had always hated when he did that. Howard had always punished him. Hurting himself more than he already is isn’t a good idea, so he fights the impulse. Rocks and rocks instead. Taps and taps against his skull with bruised and broken fingers instead. Recites the Fibonacci sequence instead.  _ Nothing  _ is helping. Nothing is helping and his brain won’t shut up, and he needs his music, and he needs his workshop where it’s safe and where he knows it’s familiar and where he can touch his tools and touch Dum-E and U and where he can smell the engine grease and the static in the air and the tropical scented air freshener Pepper always puts up for him. 

Yinsen sits close. Not close enough for Tony to flinch, to lash out, to hate him, to hurt him. Close enough that he can see him. Tony thinks Yinsen’s talking, but he can’t hear it over the cacophony in his head. Can’t hear it over the taste in his mouth. Can’t hear it over the shaking of his fingers, the stuttering of his breath. The painful pounding of his heart. Part of him is grateful not to be so alone, though, even if this is embarrassing, has always been embarrassing, will always be embarrassing. 

Slowly. Slowly. The rocking slows and the tapping calms down and the urge to hurt himself fades. He clutches at the battery, protective and terrified, breathing harshly, begins to tap on the bandages over his chest instead of his skull. 

Eventually. Eventually, it’s over. 

Tony’s tired. So worn out. His body one big ache from head to toe, muscles screaming at him, stomach roiling, head pounding. He doesn’t know how long he was - how long he was out of it. Maybe twenty minutes. Maybe longer. His face is wet with tears he’d been ignoring, chest still heaving, palpitations more concerning now than they have ever been before. But. But now, as he calms down, his brain, always,  _ literally always _ on overdrive, begins to tick over the supplies his captors have given them. 

He refuses to build them a Jericho. But. But what they’ve given him. Maybe - maybe he can build something else. 

He looks in Yinsen’s direction, gaze over the man's shoulder. He doesn’t like eyes at the best of times, now, right now, he’s not going to force himself.  

“Paper,” he rasps out, “I need paper.”


	2. Chapter 01

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avenger's move in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A light-ish chapter, before getting into the meatier stuff :) 
> 
> Some hand-wavey stuff about the design of the tower, I'm keeping it as it was in the first Avenger's film, basically. 
> 
> Also, a general warning for internalised abelism in this chapter, Tony is not very nice to himself (blame Howard and Obie).

Chapter 01 

 

He didn’t actually intend to have the whole team move in with him. He’s not that damn stupid. When he’d designed and built their apartments, his only real intention had been for them to have a place to stay whenever any of them were in town.

Which isn’t to say he hadn’t thought about it. If he’s honest with himself - and Tony rarely is - he’s imagined what it could be like to have the team around as actual friends, in his space, aware of who and what he is and accepting him entirely, without judgement. He’s never had that before, and it’s a heady image. Something in it makes him feel warm; though he’s not sure if that means happiness or contentment. It’s similar to how he feels when he gets to spend time with Rhodey, though.

But he tries not to indulge it. If Howard and Obie and society, in general, has taught him anything, it’s that no-one will be able to put up with the real him, the one beneath the layers of training, beneath the neurotypical facade he puts on. He’s too much; too intense, too many words and too many quirks, doesn’t understand other people, uncomfortable interacting with anyone outside strict guidelines. Mother had always tired of him quickly, left him to the Nannies and Jarvis. Howard had been cold and locked him out or locked him up. Obie - the less said about Obie, the better.

So he hadn’t expected Hawkeye or Widow to be around much, because of their ties to SHIELD; had thought Thor would be in the desert with Jane, or back in Asgard; hadn’t expected to see much of Steve as the man reacquainted himself with the modern world; had maybe expected to see a little more of Bruce, had even built him a whole new lab to work out of whenever he was around.

He had not expected Fury to lean on the conference table, a bare seven weeks after the Chitauri invasion attempt, fists curled and arms straight as he glared with his one eye around the gathered team and declared, “I need y’all where I can find you.”

Tony had nodded. Seemed like a good idea, especially if something like the Chitauri happened again - and he’s certain it will, all the math adds up, it’s just a matter of time.

“Stark here has very generously built you all an apartment each. Pack your bags, you’re getting your asses in there ASAP.”

Tony had blinked, nonplussed, his eyes thankfully hidden behind his ever-present sunglasses.

“They’re what, now?” His voice had been a little flat, he remembers that with a wince; he still finds it hard to put the appropriate intonations and emotions in his speech when he’s caught unawares.

“Well done, Stark. You got yourself some new neighbours.” And with that Fury had swept out of the room, leaving Tony trying to figure out how to react as everyone else broke out into chatter. He think’s they were excited, maybe. Steve had clasped his shoulder - and only years of conditioning has taught him how not to flinch at unexpected touches - and thanked him for his generosity.

He’d gotten out of the room as fast as he could, flown back to the tower and had a minor panic attack.

Now, he stands in the middle of the communal floor, glasses firmly on, practiced smile on his lips, hands in the pockets of his most comfortable jeans - paired with his favorite tee, washed so many times it’s soft as down against his skin and always makes him feel better able to deal with the world - as he welcomes them all into his home. Inside he’s still panicking, doesn’t know how this is going to work, but he’s very well trained.

They’re a rag-tag group. Steve’s in an outdated button-down and suspenders, paired with neat slacks Tony could swear are a size too small, the duffle slung over his shoulder is obviously brand new and there’s hardly anything in it, he can tell.

Thor is wearing what can only be called a tunic - though it’s made of supple leather and various metals, all straps and wraps and scale-mail - paired with what look like hand-made leather trousers and huge boots; his overflowing pack, in fact his whole outfit, looks like something out of Middle Earth.

Bruce looks like he’s actually been sleeping, faintly greying curls a haphazard mess and tumbling in his eyes behind his glasses, though he still droops at the shoulders - which Tony thinks means he’s tired? Or maybe anxious? - button-down, khakis, worn hiking boots and an enormous backpack.

Only Clint and Natasha look at all ‘normal’, in jeans and work boots, leather jackets and hoodies, with a half dozen suitcases between them, as well as backpacks and laptops in SHIELD issue carriers. He’s pretty sure that’s Clint’s bow in the long case leaning against the wall, as well.

“Welcome to Casa De Stark,” he says with a lightness he doesn’t actually feel, “You each have your own apartment, which you can only access through this floor - JARVIS will let you know which one is yours, they’re upstairs, just ask when you use the private elevator - this is the communal floor.”

He waves an arm around expansively to indicate the whole floor, the open plan layout, the huge city-view window, the kitchen at one end, the seating area at the other, the whole floor in general. It’s the same gesture he uses at a show, “This floor’s got all the mod cons, TV, DVR, DVD, all the consoles, JARVIS can get you anything you feel like watching, you just need to ask. The kitchen’s the same, got everything you could ever need.” He pauses, “You have these in your own places, too, but,” he shrugs, “I’m guessin ol’ one eye would like us to work on our team spirit or whatever, so.”

He motions to the ceiling, the floor above them, “There’s a gym as well, _yes_ equipped to deal with Steve and Thor, _yes_ to accommodate Natasha and Clint, too. Brucie, your lab’s on the sixty-second floor - one above my workshop, which takes two floors. The five under that are all R&D labs, so avoid those unless you want to get roped into working as a test subject for a new project”

He pauses, watches the way they’re looking around the large well-furnished room, “I’m on the sixty-fifth floor, above the gym. As you can tell, I refurbished everything a bit after the whole, Chitauri, _thing_ ,” he waves a hand, catches himself and sticks it in his pocket again. “Restricted access to the ‘shop, but just let JARVIS know you wanna see me and I’ll let you in. Uh - actually, you can restrict access to your own floors if you want; again, just ask JARVIS to set it up for you - that right, J?”

“Of course, sir. If I can be of assistance to any of you in any manner, you may address me at any time.”

Tony grins at JARVIS - well, the nearest sensor - as Steve flinches and Thor looks around suspiciously. Natasha and Bruce, both having interacted with JARVIS at least a few times before, don’t react.

Clint grins, “Fuckin’ Skynet goin’ on here, Stark. What the hell?”

At least _someone_ speaks his language. Tony breaks into a genuine smile, “Nah; Iron Giant.”

Everyone shares a look and he guesses no-one gets the reference, but Clint grins again - and then shakes his head a little.

Tony deflates slightly, that particular gesture has always meant people are just humouring him. Suddenly tired and needing to be away from company before his fingers do that thing he was always reprimanded for doing, Tony pulls his public grin back into place.

“Alright, I’m a busy man, so I’ll leave you to explore. Like JARVIS said, if you have questions, just ask him and you’re all set.”

He turns and makes his escape before anyone can respond. Once he’s in one of the private elevators, he droops and lets his fingers tap tap tap against his thigh as he rides the six floors down to his workshop where he knows he can feel safe.

 

\---

 

“Well,” Rogers says, a palpable sense of both confusion and relief suffusing his tone as he looks around the communal living space and then at the team. “He’s…”

“Talkative?” Natasha says neutrally, her tone actually soft, bordering on gentle, though Clint doesn't think anyone else can really tell. He’s known her long enough now that he can read her pretty well, and he thinks she actually likes Stark, in her own way.

“Intense?” Banner supplies with a small smile as he slides his hands into his pockets. Banner definitely likes Stark, he knows that much, the man wouldn’t be here if he didn’t, he’d have disappeared weeks ago, back into the wilds of South America maybe, somewhere in Indonesia or even Asia at a pinch.

Steve just continues to radiate confusion, before he says, expression turning rueful, “ _Just_ like his father.”

Personally, he would have gone with ‘brittle’, especially considering the Stark’s expression just before he declared himself busy and left. Clint doesn't have to have spent much time in his company to know the man would not react well to hearing _that_ comment. Guy’s got daddy issues from here to Timbuktu, and he’s actually surprised Rogers hasn’t picked up on them.

“He has opened his home to us,” Thor, still looking at the ceiling in suspicion, remarks. “Built us each a home within his home. His hospitality is to be celebrated.”

Steve runs a hand over his hair, rueful expression twisting to something harder to read for a second or two. “That’s not - of course, Thor. He’s been amazingly generous.”

Clint rolls his eyes at everything and hoists his backpack over his shoulders, the laptop bag quickly following and then he grabs the handle of the carrier for his bow and quiver, one of his suitcases. “Well, I’m gonna explore.”

“Agent Barton, your floor is the seventieth. Sir thought you may appreciate the vantage point.”

Clint considers for a moment - the seventieth floor is the actual _top floor_ of the whole damn building. “Sweet!” he declares with a wide grin, excited to actually go see it, wonders if he has roof access up there.

“What manner of being is this Jarvis? Where does he reside, that his voice is cast into this room, free of physical form?”

Clint pauses, shares an amused glance with Natasha as she goes about slinging her own carrier over her shoulder; this he _has_ to see.

“I am Just A Rather Very Intelligent System, JARVIS for short. An Artificial Intelligence created by Master Stark to aid him in his every endeavour. I currently have no physical form, though I do believe Sir has considered creating one for me. I run the building, including the security, and Sir’s Iron Man suits when he is not piloting.”

Rogers looks shellshocked, but Thor nods as if he understands - which, Clint reckons he probably does. The guy’s an alien, sure, but from a world far more advanced than theirs is if that wormhole travelling thing they do is anything to go by.

“So, you’re a - a robot?” Rogers asks.

“Yes, Captain, of a sort. Though I am far more advanced than any other robot or artificial intelligence currently in existence. Sir has two others in his workshop if you wish to meet them.”

“Interesting as this is,” Natasha says quietly, and she nods at them all, turns and makes her way to the private elevators. Clint shakes his head as she disappears into one, but decides he should probably follow suit.

“Laters,” he says with a mock salute and leaves Banner to babysit Thor and Rogers; the former looking interested, the latter’s confusion actually visibly clearing up.

“So, top floor then, JARVIS?” He says as the elevator closes.

“Yes, Agent Barton. It will be just a moment.”

“Hey now, less of the ‘Agent’. Name’s Clint,” he says lightly and a moment later the door opens again. He’d rather not be ‘Agent’ in his own home, that would just get annoying and gets enough of it on base.

“Of course, Clint,” and Iron Giant indeed because that is an artificial intelligence sounding _pleased_. He finds himself wondering exactly how sentient JARVIS actually is as he steps into the apartment. Bicentennial Man, maybe? He’ll have to ask Stark about that at some point.

And what an apartment it is.

“Jesus,” he breathes in quiet awe.

He’s lived in some shit holes in his time, and he's lived in a crap ton of military style accommodations, he even owns an apartment block downtown and lived in the penthouse there for a while - but this, this is fucking gorgeous.

Dropping his luggage - carefully placing the case for his bow - he ambles over to the window that makes up an entire wall. The view is breathtaking.

“I could get used to this.”

He trails his fingers over the glass for a moment, then turns and grabs his bags back up. Time to find the bedroom and see what else the place has in store for him.

“The bedroom is the last on the left, and Sir asked that I introduce you to the visual alarm systems.”

Clint locates the correct door and steps into the room, “Visual alarm systems?”

Damn. The room is huge, comfortably and masculinely furnished with dark woods and complimentary wallpapers, and the bed alone looks like it cost as much as an apartment in his own block. He drops his luggage near the footboard as JARVIS continues.

“Sir felt it would be beneficial to upgrade the alarm system that accommodates your hearing loss. As such, he has installed a new light system.”

Clint glances up at the ceiling, interested.

“A green light to alert you to any visitors,” a gentle green light flashes across the ceiling in a pattern that he knows he will always spot, “an amber light to alert you to SHEILD or Avenger missions,” amber light crosses the ceiling in a different but no less visible pattern, “and a red light to alert you of evacuation, attack upon the tower, or other imminent danger.” The red light forgoes the pattern altogether and simply plunges the entire apartment into red.

“I can set the system to be permanent, or I can set it to activate when you request. Of course, you may change this setting at any time and the system is installed throughout the building, such that I will be able to alert you at any time should you need it.”

There’s a pause and then, “Sir also installed a vibration system into the beds on this floor in addition to the lights.”

That’s… that’s actually strangely touching. He doesn’t really remember a time when someone so wholly unconnected to him made such a contribution to his safety and ease of living.

Clint runs a hand over his hair, swipes gentle dextrous fingers over one of the discreet hearing aids tucked behind his ear. “Set it to permanent, J. Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, just for my own sanity, I'm going to try to keep my chapter lengths down for this fic. I might do a longer one now and then, though, because I'm just annoying like that.


End file.
